


Star Singer

by doc_boredom



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: AND SWEET, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluff, Lore Building, M/M, just guys being dudes and dudes being guys, lmfao i am a menace, special appearance by natalie's favorite best boy: MERCH LORD JUSTIN, this is also known as natalie lives in the midwest and tells y'all all about it, this is stupidly fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:50:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doc_boredom/pseuds/doc_boredom
Summary: In which Dylan Germick grew up wishing on stars for something more to happen, for something amazing, and someway, somehow, he ended up with TWRP in his lifeAnd he wouldn't have it any other way.





	Star Singer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HanaTheMighty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanaTheMighty/gifts).



Dylan loved big cities.

Being born and raised in Indiana had given him a childhood filled with looking out car windows at rolling hills and Midwest prairie land, stretching out as far as they eye could see. If he was being honest with himself though he’d have to admit that Indiana sucked. Indianapolis lined up it’s skyscrapers right next to each other and called it a day and Indiana itself was the supposed Crossroads of America, but with each passing year Dylan had quickly learned that was just another way of saying people were on their way to bigger places.

Better places.

Still, you didn’t get to see the stars the same way in bigs cities like you did out in Indiana.

Traffic had been light on the way in and now they were in a McDonald’s parking lot smack dab in the middle of Chicago, Josh with a sprite in one hand and his phone in the other, thumbing through all the messages they had gotten from the night before. “Check this one.” He hands his phone over to Rob, currently halfway through his filet-o-fish. Dylan watches his other friend in the rearview mirror, a smile touching his lips as Rob’s own begins to grow.

“Oh that’s _good._ ” The other male says under his breath. “Dylan, check it.” The phone finds its way to him and he’s putting down his own chicken sandwich to see just what the fuck they were going on about.

“Oh no!” Dylan shouts. That has to be the ugliest picture ever taken of him and he loves it. Eyes crossed, lips pulled back, every wrinkle on his face visible… “Oh this… this is my new profile picture. Christ, who took this? They’re getting a shout out.” What had he even been doing? He starts to laugh, pressing his lips together so he doesn’t spill anything down the front of his shirt like a real goober.

“Told you it was good.” Rob says around a full mouth of food, much less concerned. “Look at the rest.”

“I look amazing, you…? Not so much.” Josh touches the side of his face and Dylan nuzzles into it, causing his friend to laugh and pinch his cheek in response. It was so easy with the three of them. Decisions never went three ways, instead always coming together in the middle. They couldn’t be any different and yet here they were, making something beautiful almost every night together.

“You think Sung saw?” Josh nudges him in the side and suddenly Dylan’s choking on his last piece of chicken. Rob and Josh don’t even react, instead grinning at one another as he slams his fist against his chest in a futile attempt to breathe again.

Just when he thinks he’s got it he spies Rob grinning at him, cheshire like as he looks up from his phone. He didn’t, Dylan despairs, knowing full well he did. “He has now.” Rob says, confirming his worst fears. “Well, either that or Meouch, you know how that bastard likes to steal phones.”

“It’s the cat in him.” Josh says over Dylan’s continued spluttering. “He’s just a little shit starter.”

Rob eyes Josh from over his cup before he tips it back, chewing on the ice that was left inside. “That man.” He says between loud, cronching bites. “Is _anything_ but little.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Josh sighs back in a pleased way. “What I would give-”

“Hey!” Dylan blurts, waving his hands about like it’ll disperse the conversation like smoke clouds. “C’mon now, I almost died y’all!”

Josh and Rob both share a look before shrugging and returning to their phones. Dylan only has a moment to seethe before a text lights up his phone. He doesn’t dare look up, knowing full well that both of his friends are watching him.

Of course it’s from Doctor Sung.

 

_got a lil crazy last night, huh?_

_meouch thought you had a stroke!_

_...i really hope you didnt have a stroke…_

 

Dylan can’t help but smile then because each text is so perfectly Sung. Josh makes a little interested noise and he quickly ducks away, thumbs tapping out a message as fast as he can.

_Nope! No strokes! We’re still good for tonight._

_No comments about that being my O face? Tell the Commander I’m disappointed in him._

 

“What are you sending your boyfriend over there, Dylan?” Dylan throws a hand over his shoulder and waves Josh off but he can feel him looming.

“Stop readin’ my texts!” Dylan curls further in on himself, holding the phone right up to his face as a few more messages ping back. “...And Sung’s not my boyfriend!”

“Yet.” Rob says under his breath from the back seat.

 

_meouch says he doesnt wanna think about you like that_

_“no offense of course” he says_

_which is total bs!!!_

_meouchs *existence* is an offense_

_an affront???_

_words are hard, dylan :(_

_ps is that really what it looks like?_

_meouch says he wants to know now._

 

“PSHAW, LIKE _MEOUCH_ WANTS TO KNOW.” Josh snorts. He’s now crowding over Dylan, his hands on his shoulders as he peeks over them. “He’s totally flirting with you, Dylan.”

“Doctor Sung is _not_ flirting with me.” They did this. This playful banter that didn’t really mean anything. It had all started when they had been posing for that stupid picture when they met last year. They had faced each other and a smile had lit up on Sung’s face and it was so easy to buy into his infectious energy. “Okay, everyone else is gonna look at the cameras, and we’re gonna look at each other real serious.” Sung had said at the time.

“Baby, I don’t do serious.” Dylan teased back and Sung’s smile grew even more, impossibly so under his strange visor.

“Then like, make a face.” Sung poked his shoulder lightly. “I’m doing dead serious though. Like, unfazed at your ridiculousness, but that’s like… what makes it even _more_ ridiculous.”

Phobos had snorted from behind his helmet. This had been before they knew that they weren’t exactly human, that they were something else strange and exciting and not from this world.

So they had knelt across from one another as everyone else went in for dynamic poses. Sung had Fuckthrust (oh how Dylan had laughed when he heard that name) sprawled across his lap and a pair of nunchucks in left hand. “You gotta do something with your other hand.” The photographer told Sung. She was right. It looked awkward just hanging there. “Put it on your keytar, or I dunno, put it around Dylan? You think that would look good?”

“You can touch my face, if you want.” Dylan offered with a pointed bedroom eyes kind of look, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of Sung. Instead the other male had cocked his head before smiling just so.

There was a hand on his thigh then, the leather of his fingerless gloves brushing the bottom of his dress shorts, fingers pressing into his flesh just so without warning.

“How’s this?” Sung whispered in quiet delight, like they were sharing a secret that only they could know.

It had all been downhill from there.

 

Josh is plucking his phone from his hands and Dylan can’t react fast enough. Rob leans forward too, laughing under his breath at whatever Josh was typing. “Josh Cantero, don’t you dare.” Dylan threatens.

“Oh, I _do_ dare.” And with a press of his fingers whatever awful thing he had written up is sent.

“You are sleeping on the floor tonight!” Dylan shrills as he rips it back, horror growing as he reads what Josh had gone and sent. “No, forget that, outside! Josh!!!”

“Whoops.” The dark haired male says, not really meaning it.

 

_Promise you it’s much prettier than that._

_Sorry, meant Meouch, not you, haha!_

_Unless you were curious too ;-)_

_I’M SORRY THAT WAS JOSH_

 

He types the last bit out stupid fast, ever grateful for autocorrect to make sense of his gibberish. A response in progress bubbles up and Dylan can only press his teeth into his bottom lip and hope that Josh hadn’t made it impossible to come back from.

 

_LMAO HI JOSH!!!_

_is rob there too? hi rob!!!_

_meouch cant stop laughing hahaha_

_damn that was good almost had me there_

_;d_

_fuck_

_*;D_

_is it weird without the nose?_

_you earthens and your emojis_

_ps why is there no cone emoji!?!??!?!_

_im getting off topic_

_ANYWAYS_

_see you tonight!_

_ <3 _

 

“Oh my God, Sung.” Josh whispers. “Why is he like this?”

“Are you seriously asking that?” Rob snorts. “You should be asking this one why he’s into that hot mess.” He points at Dylan with his now empty cup.

“Both of you are out of the band, damn it.” Dylan moans. “Ain’t gonna be no take backs either.”

 

-

It’s always strange seeing Sung without his pylon on.

A few select people know the real deal with TWRP. Justin, him and Josh and Rob, Danny and Brian and Arin too. He’s in that in between state when Dylan entered the venue, hair shagged over his pointed ears, visor covering his infamous single eye, core covered up under his shirt. Just human enough unless you looked close. Phobos and Havve were nowhere to be found, probably waiting it out until most of the scurrying staff went away, and Meouch…

Meouch looked just as human as all of them in that strange morphsuit get up of his.

“Showing up early with the disco booty, eh?” It’s cradled safely in Dylan’s arms, catching under the stage lights. He smiles at Sung and Meouch above it and goes to set it right there, smack dab in the middle.

The first time they had found out the whole alien thing had come as a shock. It was after they had toured together, after that stupid photo that had come out looking like the best god damn thing Dylan had seen in his life. It was only a few days before Christmas and he had come home for holidays for a bit. Always a momma’s boy, you couldn’t keep him away from home, especially when the infamous Christmas cookie cutters came out...

He had flour up to his elbows when Sung had called, changing his life forever. He had shifted the phone up between his ear and shoulder, still working the rolling pin over the dough as he answered. “Yeh?” That strange mix of Southern Midwest always came out a bit stronger when he was at home, unapologetic every time he opened his mouth.

“Dylan?” Was that Doctor Sung on the other end? He nearly dropped his phone before holding his finger up to his mom, motioning that he’d be right back. He stepped out to the living room, blissfully empty, and made his way up to the large window that faced their backyard.

“That’s me alright. Howdy, stranger.” There wasn’t too much snow outside but at least it was looking like it’d be a white Christmas, Dylan noted as he stared outside into the growing dark. “What’s up? Where’ve ya been?”

“Playing among the stars.” Sung teased back with a hum.

“Brenda Lee style?” He knew it wasn’t actually her song but he preferred that version in comparison to the rest that had come out over the years. Sung hummed again, the beginning notes to the song, so soft that Dylan can barely hear it over the staticky distance. “Yeah, now that’s the good shit.” He closed his eyes, face pressing against the cold glass pane.

Sung laughed softly, causing Dylan’s eyes to open. A comfortable silence settled over them and Dylan couldn’t help but think what the other was doing in that moment, trying to place a face onto the smaller male. Probably done up in some stupid Christmas sweater, wrapping presents last minute…

“I’ve got a question for you.”

“Shoot, shorty.”

“Shorty!” Sung crowed. “Hey now!”

“What, you know it’s true.” Dylan couldn’t help but laugh. Sure that cone on his head had made up for a lot of it but without it Sung was next to nothing. “C’mon now, why’re you calling me on this fine December night, Doctor Sung?”

Another pause follows, broken only by the sound of Sung swallowing on his end of the call. “I was wondering if you’d like to get together and make a song.”

He heard his mother speak to herself softly in the kitchen as she sorted through the old family recipes, the sounds of the ongoing football game his dad was watching coming from the family room overlapping with her voice. Outside the first star made itself known in sky, then another…

“Yeah?” He said finally. “Fuck yeah, we’re taking a break from our own tour thing right now but I think we can make somethin’ happen.” He pushed his hair back from his face, smile growing with the thought of grooving together with these crazy fuckers again. “You got something in mind already?”

“Okay, first and foremost, title.” Sung sounded so damn excited already. He had to be up and about, not even taking a moment longer to sit. “Get ready for it.”

“Oh I’m ready.” Dylan grinned, hoping Sung could hear it over the phone.

“Tactile Sensation.”

Fuck, that sounded right up their alley. Dylan leaned his back against the window pane and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Okay, alright, I’m liking where this is going.” He approved.

“Liking?” Sung squawked. “You gotta _love_ it, Dylan, gotta feel it in your bones.”

“Give it to me then.” He teased. “Gonna need a lil more than just that title.”

“Okay, okay. Fine. It’s still pretty rough, just a demo, and like… I don’t got Fuckthrust or the talkbox anywhere close by so you’re gonna have to just deal with my voice, yeah?”

“‘M ready.” He closed his eyes, strained his ears until he was sure the were ringing from it. Sung cleared his throat in response and then began to hum.

The first note warbled but then it all came together. Two notes in quick succession, the same tone, before cascading upwards and coming down again. So easy to follow with his mind’s eye as he leaned his head back, almost seeing the music as it happened in real time. Sung trailed off after a bit and slowly Dylan opened his eyes once more, finding the star full of skies above head. “So…?” Sung said finally, breaking the silence, sounding nervous. “Did you like it?”

“No.” Dylan had laughed. “I _loved_ it.”

Sung sits next to the booty now, bringing it into his lap, tapping his fingers along the top. “I know you missed her.” Dylan smirks, ruffling his fingers through Sung’s hair.

“How could I not, she’s so damn glorious.” Sung sighs in a dreamy way before slapping at Dylan’s hand. “I missed you too, I guess.” He grins impishly.

It’s meant to be a joke, light and without consequence, but Dylan will take all he can get. He keeps his hand in Sung’s hair, his fingers much more careful as he goes about fixing the mess he’s made. He lets his digits linger for what is probably much too long but Sung lets him and it feels like a victory in Dylan’s racing heart.

A hand claps down on his shoulder and he looks back to see Meouch grinning at him from his human skin. “Looking good. Much better than that picture, I gotta say.” Finally Dylan pulls away from Sung, pushing at the Leoian’s arm. “I feel like the stroke thing wasn’t too far off though, right?”

“You’re right.” Josh and Rob are finally joining them, lugging in all sorts of shit behind them. “Dylan said he’d make it his profile pic, but we’re still waiting on that.”

“Hey now, hey. I’m working on it.” Dylan sticks his tongue out at Josh who rolls his eyes in response. Rob’s in business mode, as much of a robot as Havve is as he begins to set everything up. “Josh would like to formally apologize for the indecent texts, by the way.” He says to Meouch and Sung.

“Everyone got a good laugh out of them so he doesn’t have to apologize!” Sung butterflies his legs up and down, still hugging the disco booty close. “It was hilarious, Josh.”

“I’m glad you thought so because I wasn’t going to apologize.” Josh says, narrowing his eyes at Dylan from behind his glasses. Dylan waves him off, rolling his eyes at Sung as if to say ‘get a load of this guy, huh?’ which causes Sung to cover his mouth, stifling any and all potential giggles.

God, he’s cute.

God, you’re so gay, Germick.

Sung sets the disco booty down before jogging up to them, stupidly energetic. It was all pretty easy now. They had fallen into the perfect pattern of set up and break down over the last few months and they all had it down to a tee. Still, there were moments  where they paused between warm ups to fuck around. Those were Dylan’s favorite moments. Where they weren’t just these over the top characters, rather they were just a bunch of guys doing what they loved most. Making music, making people happy, enjoying life day by day…

“Need help with anything else? Otherwise I’ll probably go grab Phobs and Havve.” Dylan looks back to Josh and Rob and they both shake their heads. “Cool, awesome, uh…” That near constant smile of Sung’s slips as he looks up at Dylan. He cocks his head in response, not quite sure what’s happening. “Do you uh, w-wanna come with?”

Sung almost says it too quickly to be heard but once his brain catches up to it Dylan’s nodding enthusiastically. “Sure, yeah, I’m down!” He feels Josh’s eyes boring into his back but he doesn’t dare return that look. Instead he matches his pace to Sung’s as they head backstage and out into the late summer air. “Fall’s around the corner.” Dylan notes softly. That meant they’d be wrapping everything up, Sung would returning up space until they started planning their next album.

Whenever that would be.

He tries not to worry too much because he knows Sung can sense it all. Hell, he’s always aware of his emotions when the empath was near. It wasn’t Sung’s fault, he had been born that way, and sometimes it even came as a gift. He could read Dylan so easily on stage, play off both him and the rest of his friends and the audience too, but then there were the times where he got too deep in his head space, thoughts all consuming, emotions running out of control…

Sung knocks his fist along the door and Phobos pokes his helmeted head out. He perks immediately at the sight of Dylan and wiggles past Sung to throw his arms around his shoulders. “Pinkie!” Dylan delights, wrapping his arms around the masked Lepid, pulling him in for a tight hug.

It actually hadn’t been Sung who had revealed the whole ‘we’re aliens!’ thing to Dylan. No, it had been Phobos. It had been an accident when they had been recording Tactile Sensation back in February. It had been strange enough to walk in and see them all in full costume still, those primary colors impossibly bright in the recording studio, but they were still all the amazing sons of bitches they had met back in October so Dylan had let it slide (and made sure Josh and Rob both kept their mouths shut about it too.) They had been taking a break, had ordered a pizza and were waiting for it in the studio. Phobos had been gone forever and no one seemed to know where. “I mean I don’t mind. I also have to pee, if we’re being honest.” Dylan said. Sung and Havve had shared a look but finally they relented. “Just send him back if you find him. He’s a lollygagger, that one.” Meouch rolled his eyes under his cat mask.

It was impossibly cold outside which is why Dylan had to pause when he felt a chill tickle up his spine. Down the hallway a door was open, leading out into the freezing air of February. “Jesus, really?” He huffed. His jacket was still tucked away in the recording room and he really didn’t want to make his way back. It was still strange that they had this whole place to themselves for the day, only Meouch and Havve to fiddle around with the sound and tech, but once again TWRP seemed really insistent on having things go a certain way, so Dylan just rolled with it.

He almost closed the door without a second thought but then he saw the red among the snow. It was Phobos, bent over himself, his helmet gone and hair impossibly yellow and bright against the dying sun. Dylan gave a choked noise of surprise and Phobos looked in response.

Too large eyes, a flat pink face, antennae standing straight up…

“No.” The alien before him breathed out.

Dylan didn’t dare move. He could only stare, trying to make sense of it. Phobos had always been quiet but pleasant, always leaning into conversations and signing to Sung (who was happy to translate.) His fingers had always been quick on the strings, shredding along the fret to pluck out the perfect melody to match Havve’s frantic drumbeat. He saw them now, the same pink as his face, long and delicate, cupping the fine snow within them...

“I can explain.” His voice was a fine whisper as he approached Dylan, hands held up. “...Inside…”

The cold was seeping past his sweater but Dylan couldn’t tell if the shudder was from that or from the fact that he was scared and confused. Things like Phobos didn’t exist outside of movies and books and television shows. How could he be here, oh so casually among other humans?

“Gods.” He heard Sung call from doorway. Phobos gives a weak noise and hugs his arms around himself, antennae curling inwards. Dylan finally turns and finds a cyclops staring back. “Fuck.” He said. “Dylan, don’t.”

He couldn’t help it.

He fainted.

He woke up again sometime later to see everyone standing over him. Josh, Rob… Phobos, Sung, Havve and Meouch too. Except Sung wasn’t Sung except he was, and Phobos and Meouch as well. Havve’s mask was still the same at least, red eyes glaring down at him. “Aw hell no...” He started, blinking blearily. “Wha-?”

“Yeah, don’t freak out.” Rob said in response, sounding almost bored. “They’re aliens, it’s weird, we’re kind of past that point now.”

He sat up suddenly, not caring if his vision near blacked out from all the blood rushing out of his head. “You are but I’m not!” Sung’s brow was slanted over his blue-green, Phobos looked absolutely miserable and Meouch… “You’re one of those weird ass furries…” Dylan groaned after a moment of studying him.

“Fuck you, man.” Meouch bit out in response, lips pulling back from his muzzle to show sharp teeth.

“Quit it, Meouch.” Sung knocked his fist against the lion man’s shoulder. “...I think we’ve got some explaining to do.”

It had taken some time to get used to but it had made life infinitely easier once they had all found out. And all because Phobos had never seen snow before… whodathunk? No more over the top costumes, no more odd hours to practice and record at. You could see in their posture and interactions too. The real TWRP coming out and making itself known.

Havve was a methodical thing, but when he wasn’t seated at the drum set or working his knife over a whetstone in silent thought he was bent over himself with pen and paper in hand, sketching out all sorts of strange and alien landscapes and faces too. Meouch, the oldest and the dad of the group, rolled his own cigarettes and had a penchant for tinkering and busying his anxious hands with all sorts of puzzles and crafts that he left laying around. Phobos was the sweetheart and the baby of the group, Dylan had found, face buried in romance novels and notebook at the ready as he helped pen lyrics out for Sung when the cyclops when he was too busy to think, and Sung…

What couldn’t Sung do, Dylan wondered, as he went from plunking along on his synthboard to brainstorming to practicing his nunchucks to fixing just about anything that fell apart on them randomly. A real wunderkind if Dylan had ever seen one. Nothing seemed impossible for him. It was the empath in him, he told Dylan later, always looking for ways to relate to people. “Why limit myself?” He said with a surprising ease. “Why hold myself back when there’s so much to explore?”

Dylan’s sure that’s where it actually started. When Sung spoke to him so earnestly, no longer masked and hidden away from him. _That’s_ when he started to legitimately feel something for the other male. The empath thing had come as a surprise too but he had been eager to divulge that one the moment he had read Josh’s bad mood one day. “I just… my kind can just understand others. We’re _empaths_ , easy as that.” He had shrugged and that had been that, really...

Phobos was a long lost lord and Meouch was a space pirate and Havve shared a telepathic link with Sung and all of it should be impossible at yet here they are.

In the present Phobos’s helmet presses painfully into his shoulder blade but Dylan still holds him tight. “It’s been less than a week, how can I miss you so much?” He tells the Lepid, who laughs back in response. Havve peeks out from the door as well, tilting his head at what ought to be a painful angle but probably isn’t due to his robot-ness. “You too, Havve.”

“He doesn’t believe you.” Sung notes with a snort. Havve’s eyes flicker in that ghastly head of his and Sung shakes his head. “I am _not_ telling him that.”

“You know I love you too, Murder Bot.” Dylan reaches over to rap his knuckles against the side of Havve’s mask. The bottom of his jaw shift, optics brightening. Dylan’s pretty sure that’s the equivalent to a smile if he’s ever seen one. “So we ready?”

“Ready.” Phobos hums as he untangles himself. “Lemme get my stuff.” He zips back into the tour bus and comes back out with his guitar strapped across his back. “I missed Chicago.” He notes, glancing towards where the Sears tower pierces the sky in the distance. “...Navy Pier…” He says a moment later, a bit more forlornly.

Sung’s face drops into a heavy frown. “Meouch is gonna have to steal you and Havve some morphsuits of your own.” It was ‘illegal tech’ that made the Leoian look the way he did, stolen who knows how many years ago during his pirating years. “Finally get you on that ferris wheel, Phobs.” A pause and Sung shoots Havve a dirty look. “You don’t have to say hard pass like an asshole, Havve.”

“Oh, forget Navy Pier. Hell, we’re going to Six Flags. You ever been a rollercoaster, kiddo?” Phobos gasps inside his helmet before throwing his arms around Dylan once again, bouncing this time. Dylan laughs and hugs him tight, not missing the way Sung watches with an approving smile the whole time. “I dunno if Sung can ride most of ‘em though, he’s so short.” Dylan whispers and Phobos really starts to giggle.

“Fuck off, Germick.” Sung huffs. “What about that waterpark capital we passed through in Wisconsin?”

“The Dells? Josh still can’t believe that’s the case. Like, _Wisconsin_ man.” They’re finally moving backstage, Phobos skipping ahead of them with Havve following after, the two of them lingering behind them. “I heard they got this place far up North where there’s just goats eating on the roof of this restaurant.”

“What?!” Sung throws his head back with a wild laugh. The sky above them is that blue-orange of sunset, canceling itself out in certain places where the colors bleeds together in the middle. Summer’s ending, this tour’s coming to a close, everything was changing. To think it all started in Toronto, to think they had joined Ninja Sex Party on this magical journey, to think it was all because of Sung calling him that one night…

“Hey, Sung.” He starts. The empath turns to him and he can see the light of his core under his shirt and the bindings he wrapped around it when they were in public. His face is just that unreadable when he wears that visor of his, the dark reflecting the setting sun perfectly. “...This has been real nice.”

Sung tilts his head, lips parting just so. “Yeah, no, this has been the greatest year of my life if we’re being honest. Everything’s… settling in.” They had started so young, Dylan knows, when they were barely sixteen years old, right off the heels of the Lepid Massacre tragedy. Midwest life, high school, homecoming and prom… all of that had seemed so big when he had been their age and here they had been, fighting for their lives, making something of themselves among the stars. Sung’s twenty five now. Nearly ten years of this and more things that Dylan can’t even begin to understand.

That he wants to, desperately.

“You can say that again.” Dylan says because he’s a coward, because he doesn’t know how to just tack on the words ‘and it’s all because of you’ at the end. They stare at each other at the door that leads backstage, where a whole different world exists filled with mix and match wires and scales and too bright stage lights. A world where he’s a bit more suave and playful and Sung’s all sorts of campy and they’re there for the crowd, for the thrill of it, for the moment.

“Thank you.” Sung breaks the silence suddenly, nearly blurting the word. Dylan startles and blinks down at him. “For… for saying yes.”

“To what?” Dylan huffs out a nervous laugh.

“To everything.”

Sung can’t say stuff like that because it goes right to his head, his heart. He gives a little huff a laugh and prays that Sung can’t sense everything he’s feeling in that moment. “Yeah, well, it’s uh… it’s not hard to say yes when it comes to you, shorty.” He reaches out and touches the side of Sung’s face, going for the easy and playful Dylan that everyone knew and loved. He touches Sung’s jaw and then smooths his fingers across the swell of his cheek. Sung doesn’t shy away. He does the exact opposite. He leans into it with a heart heavy sigh, head tilting into the touch.

Holy shit.

Sung looks up and the moment suspends itself, a dangerous and impossible thing. He could lean in and kiss Sung right now, if he really dared to, or he could just pull back and let it die out like embers. “...You gonna pull this move out tonight?” Sung sighs out, still in place. It’s a god damn life line if he’s ever seen one. Dylan grabs for it, slapping a bright smile onto his face as he does.

“Yeah, thinkin’ it would uh, really get the crowd going. You can do a little spin, I can uh…” He finally pulls his hands away and clenches his fingers tight. “Do this, cos it’s dramatic.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sung nods. “Perfect. I love it.”

They stand there and the moment starts to edge it’s way into awkwardness. “We should probably get inside, shorty.” Dylan rasps out and Sung nods in agreement. Just keep it together for another month, Germick. You were almost there, and then Sung would be on his way and you would be here.

Fuck.

-

The show is great, which Dylan’s grateful for. It’s so easy to lose himself once the stage lights come down on this crown of his head and the cheer comes up. An infinite amount of sweat later and who knows how many hugs given out and another perfect rendition of Tactile Sensation under the rug and they’re finally done for the night. The staff is nice enough to let them linger as they do their own cleaning up around the venue. Rob and Meouch are playing their own private version of Quarters at the end of the bar and Phobos is at the merch table with Justin, helping fold things up for the next show. He’s seated at the middle of the bar with Sung to his left and Josh to his right. “To another great one.” Josh proclaims, lifting his glass up.

“And many more to come.” Sung raises his own glass up with a tired sigh. “Fuck, we’ve got so long to drive tomorrow…”

“Yeah well, who’s fault is that, Doc?” Dylan nudges him with a weary smile. “You’re the one who set up the tour dates.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know…” He throws back whatever liquor is at the bottom of his cup and pulls a face. There’s a loud cheer from Meouch and suddenly Rob is throwing back a shot and then another and Dylan doesn’t notice until too late that Sung’s slipped away from them.

For a moment he stares at the empty space before looking around the bar in confusion. “He went out.” Justin says once he glances over to that side of the room, Phobos nodding in agreement. “Check the backstage door.”

Midwest summer was strange, it was one of those things that could stretch out for months on end if it felt like it. Indian summer, his mom called it, savage heat clinging until November finally pushed it away. Tonight was the polar opposite though. Fall never felt closer as the weather hinged itself in the low 60s, just teasing 59… Dylan finds Sung seated on the ground, face turned up, his visor still on. “Hey.” He whispers.

“Hey.” Sung doesn’t turn, still watching the sky. “...Gods, I hate light pollution.” He says after a beat.

Dylan takes his time sitting down next to the other male, turning his face up in the same direction. The source of his frustrations is made apparent right away. Not a star to be seen in that infinite sky. “Yeah, it’s hard in cities.” Dylan sighs, letting his head fall back against the bricks behind him softly.

“I can still hear them though.” Sung clenches his fists and Dylan tilts his head in confusion at that. Sung must sense it because he turns to him, leaning in close. “I didn’t tell you, did I?”

“Tell me what?” One brow goes down and the other goes up as he looks at Sung. The empath pulls back then and reaches up to take his visor off. “Sung, what’re you doing?”

“It’s just better if I show you, anyways.” He mutters to himself. “Just… give me a second.” He clears his throat, eerily reminiscent of that night he had been at home. They’re so much closer now, mere inches between them instead of miles upon miles of space. “And don’t watch me.” He peeks over. “...Watch them.”

Them? Dylan’s not sure what he means but then Sung begins to sing. It was always jarring to hear him sing without his talkbox. That isn’t to say it was bad. No, Sung had an amazing voice, the kind that drew your attention if you heard it, made you stop and pause and think.

He’s still not sure what he should be looking at though but he sees Sung’s core go bright in the corner of his eye. He looks to his left, his right, at the ground and then finally up…

Where he can see hundreds of thousands of stars.

Just like Indiana, but better.

“Sung.” He breathes, grabbing the other’s shoulder. “Look!”

His eye opens slowly and an even slower smile touches upon his lips, causing him to dimple at the sight. “There they are.” He sighs, soft and enamored. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

How? How in the hell were they there? Dylan swears he could reach up and grab a handful if he so dared. “Sung…” He starts, unsure of himself.

“...We were called star keepers.” The empath says, still looking up. “We balanced the universe, just enough light, just enough dark. And there was always a star singer, one who could speak to the stars.” He looks over with a sad smile then, drawing his knees up to his chest. “One who could hear them too.”

Dylan nearly scoffs but bites it back, gaping at Sung instead. “You.” He finally manages.

“Me.” He issues another soft hum from the back of his throat and Dylan watches as three shooting stars make their way across the night sky. “...Just me…”

He knew Sung was the last of his kind. An endling, he had called himself. A legacy that he would live with and die with all on his lonesome. And now this too. Who would speak for the stars after he was gone? What a terrible, awful thought…

Dylan reaches over before he can help himself, crushing Sung against him. The empath issues a startled noise before he’s wrapping his arms around Dylan tight. Tighter than Phobos had before, tight to the point of pain, but the human doesn’t dare let go. “I wish I was human sometimes.” Sung muffles against the front of his shirt. “I just want to make music, fuck around, be with my friends.”

“But you wouldn’t be you, Sung. Everything that you’ve done. Phobos and Meouch, Havve…? If you hadn’t been born the way you had been born, done the things you had, would we even be here right now?” Would they? How much was fate?

How much was chance?

“Whatever the fuck brought us here, to this moment right now, I am so god damn grateful for it. You changed all our lives, Sung. We had fans surprise us in Ohio. They drove five hours to see us in some shithole bar in the middle of nowhere. That wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you. You made this for us, made so many moments.” He’s rambling at this point and probably losing his original point but he can’t help it. “I-I… I just…” Dylan draws in a deep breath and bites down on his bottom lip. “I…”

He looks up and Sung’s looking up at him with this unreadable expression for a moment before leaning in painfully slow. “ _You_.” Sung whispers, sounding astounded, sounding delighted…

Sounding absolutely and positively in love.

Their mouths meet and it’s not perfect by any means. He can’t help but laugh into Sung’s mouth when the empath’s nose bumps against the side of his face hard, but then Dylan cups his face, forces Sung to slow down, to take a deep breath, to find the perfect rhythm…

And for a simple boy from Indiana who grew up wishing on stars for something more and for a star singing empath from across the stars.

It simply just  _is._

 


End file.
